A Courtesan’s Guide to Getting Your Man (20 page)

It was as amusing as it was vomitorious.

The workplace seduce-a-thon took a sudden turn on Friday, when Mick mentioned he’d scored a coffee date with Piper for Sunday afternoon.

That pretty much locked it up, Linc knew. He’d be the only senior curator on staff immediately after the Fall Gala, because there was no way Piper could simultaneously start a hot-’n’-heavy relationship while reaching any modicum of success on the Harrington exhibit.

It wouldn’t be long before Linc was back in the men’s room, laughing his ass off.

Fifteen

Piper smiled and waved when she saw him, and Mick’s heart kicked in his chest. She was seated at a small table in the café section of Beantown Books. From his vantage point, he could tell she was wearing a pair of jeans and a sleeveless silvery top that draped right above the swell of her breasts. At closer range, he noticed that a peek of cleavage was showing—incredibly sexy but ladylike at the same time.

She stood to greet him, and that’s when he noticed her choice of a low-slung leather belt, another pair of sexy heels, and silver hooped earrings peeking out from under her shiny hair. She was hot enough to toast bread.

“Hi, Mick.”

He grabbed her hand and bent close to kiss her cheek—the first time he’d put his lips anywhere on her body in ten years—and breathed in her essence. Piper Chase-Pierpont smelled as sweet and silky as she felt. The hint of flesh beneath his lips tasted like some kind of exotic confection. He hated to end the contact, but it had to be done.

The last thing Mick wanted to do was scare her off. He’d worked too feckin’ hard for this Sunday afternoon sort-of-but-not-quite-date, and he planned to make the most of it.

They sat down across from each other. He watched her cross her legs. He listened to her talk about how this little independent bookstore was her favorite Boston hangout. That led into a good, long conversation about books, which segued into music and movies and work. By then he was parched.

With the help of the nice young man running the café cash register, Mick managed to rustle up a pot of strong Ceylon tea—from the bags, of course, but what could he do?—and set about giving Piper a short lesson on the Irish and their tea.

He filled both cups about a third of the way with whole milk. “Did you know the Irish are the largest per-capita consumers of tea in the world?” he asked her.

Piper shook her head. “I had no idea.”

Next, he poured in the tea. “The Gaelic expression for this delicacy is
cupan tae
.” He looked up at Piper to find her studying him, those stupendous green eyes lit up with enjoyment. “That’s what our family’s always called it, even after we came to the States.”

Piper repeated the phrase, slowly and carefully.

“I had no idea you spoke Gaelic!” Mick said, grinning. Clearly, Piper enjoyed his teasing. She looked so very beautiful when she laughed. It came back to him: how lovely she’d seemed all those years ago, how he enjoyed her sense of humor, her headlong passion for knowledge, her kindness—and how horribly it had ended.

Mick began to spoon in the sugar. “What we really need here is a couple thick slices of Irish shortcake. Have you ever had that?”

“No,” she said. “But it sounds glorious.”

“Oh, it’s decadent, all right.” Mick wagged an eyebrow as he stirred. “All that rich butter melting on your tongue.”

He peeked at Piper, noting how she hung on his every word. “Or a nice slab of chocolate potato cake—ever have that?”

Piper shook her head.

“I’ll bake it for you one day.” Mick reached over and handed Piper her cup and saucer. “Have you ever prepared your tea this way?”

“Nope.” She took a small slurp.

“Do you know I never forgot you, Piper?”

Her cup clattered onto the saucer.

“Did you know that for the last ten years I’ve regretted that night with all my heart?”

Her eyes bugged.

“I should have walked you home like a gentleman, tucked you into your bed—fully clothed—and called you the next morning to explain my intentions.”

Piper gulped. “What intentions?”

“That I was interested in getting to know you, but not while I was your teacher and heading for an overseas dig site as soon as the semester ended. You may think I’m old-fashioned, but that sort of slam-bam sex has never set right with me, and never will.”

Mick sat back in his chair, crossed his legs, and took a sip, watching the emotions float across Piper’s face. She seemed truly surprised.

He took his time with her. He told her about the women in his life over the last ten years, relationships that went nowhere—the British research assistant, the South African yoga instructor, the poet from Quebec. He told her about his father’s death, how his brother had shouldered the burden of caring for him, and why Mick felt he needed to come home and make up for his absence. He told her about the reality show, and how a decent deal could save the pub. He told her that all of these things had helped to pull him back home, but the possibility of seeing her again was part of the lure.

“Did you ever think of me, Piper?”

She tipped her head and ran her fingers through her shiny, deep brown hair. Mick wanted desperately to experience the sensation for himself—thick and soft handfuls slipping between his fingers, brushing against her bare shoulders …

“Sure,” she said, a wry smile on her lips. “Usually in my moments of self-pity and loneliness, when I’d look around and wonder how other people managed to find love and companionship while I was slowly turning into a brittle, dried-out old hag.”

Mick nearly spit out a mouthful of tea. “Say again?”

Piper waved her hand and laughed. “It’s not a big deal,” she said with a shrug. “I’m starting to see that blaming you for my dry spell allowed me to avoid responsibility for my own choices, my own fears.”

Mick was gobsmacked. It made no sense. “Uh, you mean to tell me you’ve been lonely for ten years? You’ve been walking around
alone
for all this time?” He studied her carefully. The sorrow in her eyes confirmed this was no joke.

“I didn’t exactly advertise that I was available, or even remotely interested,” Piper said. “Looking back, I realize the men who did approach me had to be some pretty brave souls, but none of them were right for me.”

A shiver went down Mick’s spine. “And I did that to you? I made you go into hiding?”

“No. I did it to myself.” Piper sat up straighter in her chair. “It was just easier to blame you.”

Mick spent the next forty-five minutes in rapt attention as Piper described her life—her controlling parents, her cat, her little Cambridge apartment, the failure of her last exhibit, good ole Brenna, and the complete
nob heads
she’d dated over the years. It all helped him understand her better, but left him holding a raw sadness deep in his gut.

He reached across the table and Piper quickly slipped her hand into his. “I am sorry my actions hurt you,” he said.

She tilted her head and smiled at him thoughtfully. “And I’m sorry I pushed you away when you tried to explain. I messed up.”

“We both did.”

They wandered the bookstore together for another couple of hours. They lingered in the poetry section, taking up residence there, heads together. In the sweetest of whispers, Piper read him selections from Shelley, her blue-blood Boston accent making him smile.

Then Mick reached for a volume of Yeats, and gently backed Piper against the shelves, his mouth close to her ear. He began to read aloud:

Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;

That’s all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift the glass to my mouth,

I look at you, and I sigh.

Mick replaced the book and cradled Piper’s face in both his hands. He lowered his lips to her forehead and the tip of her adorable nose before he set about kissing her properly.

It was a long, hot, luxurious tangle of lips and heat and tongue that paid no mind to the busy bookstore, the spinning of the earth, or the passing of time.

It was a kiss potent enough to make up for lost opportunities and heal the sting of regret.

It was a kiss for the ages.

*   *   *

Brenna circled the bed, a slight frown forming between her eyes. The reaction surprised Piper, because she really thought she’d done a bang-up job turning her apartment into Scheherazade City. She only had five days until the sinning was scheduled to start, so if Piper needed to do more shopping, Brenna had better let her know now.

“Why are you frowning? Am I missing something?” Piper checked her notes again. “I got everything from the list—the corsets, the stockings, the peacock feather, the velvet ropes, the blindfold, the lace-up high-heeled boots, the heavy cream, the—”

Brenna placed a hand on her forearm. Piper stopped talking and glanced up.

“None of it will matter if you’re twitchy. There’s nothing even remotely sexy about twitchy.”

She narrowed an eye at her friend. “Which volume was that in?”

“It’s in
my
volume!” Brenna laughed as she put an arm around Piper. “You’ve done an amazing job with the place. Relax! It’s a pleasure palace!”

Though Piper heard Brenna’s reassuring words, she couldn’t help but scan the bedroom, still concerned something might be lacking. The last thing she wanted to do was be smack in the middle of the Fourth Sin and not be able to get her hands on the massage oil.

“Take a deep breath,” Brenna said.

She did as directed, gazing at her handiwork with pride. She’d bundled a dozen harem-inspired white sheers into a fluffy rosette, then tacked it to the ceiling over the bed. The sheers were loosely tied at each corner, leaving enough room for other things that might need to be attached to the bedposts—which would begin on night five, if all went according to the calendar.

Piper had piled her bed with ivory silk sheets, pillowcases, and accent pillows. She’d arranged scented candles in the bedroom and bath. The nightstand held a book of erotic poetry and a few DVDs Brenna said were clinically proven to increase arousal, though if that kiss in the bookstore was any indication, Piper doubted they’d need it. She’d also topped the bed with a fluffy satin comforter. She’d purchased a fluffy white flokati throw rug that felt like mink under her bare feet. She’d folded fluffy new towels and washcloths in the bathroom. Piper suddenly panicked—was it too much? Had she reached a fluffiness critical mass in here?

“What’s on Friday’s menu?” Brenna asked.

Piper shook her head in an effort to stay focused. She followed Brenna into the living room, also newly jazzed up with colorful scarf throws, jewel-toned toss pillows, two new lamps, and a fireplace filled with four tiers of tea lights to provide that romantic glow in the middle of a heat wave.

“Champagne, of course,” Piper said. “We’ll start with an avocado, tomato, and basil salad, then move on to linguine with scallops, followed by juicy sliced papaya and mango and a dark chocolate mousse with fresh whipped cream.”

One of Brenna’s brows arched. “That oughta do it,” she said. “What’s the schedule leading up to the big night?”

Piper consulted her smartphone. “We’re having tea after the staff meeting tomorrow. Tuesday and Wednesday we’re doing lunch. Thursday I’ve begged off—too much work. And that brings us to Friday, and the first sin. Of course, all Mick knows is that he’s agreed to put himself in my hands for seven nights in a row, but he’s probably thinking more along the lines of movies and quaint restaurants and walks in the park.”

Brenna emitted a soft
hmm.
“Too bad you can’t take the week off from work—you know, use the daytime to recuperate from your nights of debauchery.”

Piper collapsed into the armchair and laughed. “I wasn’t kidding about having too much work to do!” She looked up at Brenna, a bit sheepishly. “I think I’ve gotten myself in a bit of a
situation,
actually.”

Her friend gathered up the purring Miss Meade and stroked the cat behind her ears, raising her eyebrows at Piper. “What kind of situation?”

Piper tossed her smartphone and notebook to the coffee table. “I’m going for it, Brenna. I’m telling Ophelia’s story. All of it. I can’t be worried about whether I’ll lose my job or scandalize the trustees.”

Brenna’s eyes widened.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I created an installation that merrily skipped over my discovery. The facts are the facts.” Piper sighed. “Besides, I owe her one.”

Brenna reached back and caught herself as she fell onto the couch, a move that was not to Miss Meade’s liking. The cat wiggled her way free, hit the floor, and ran off. “How?” Brenna asked breathlessly. “They’ll never go for it.”

“I know they won’t, and my mock-up is supposed to be in their hands in ten days.”

“So how—”

“The proposal will be a dummy, similar in design and interactive elements but with completely different content than the real exhibit.”

Brenna’s mouth fell open.

“Something like this is way too radical for the trustees, and LaPaglia would have a coronary at the mere suggestion. So I have no choice but to sneak it in behind their backs.”

“Holy shit, Piper.”

“I know,” she said, shaking her head. “I surprise myself more every day.”

Sixteen

“Come in,” she breathed.

Mick stepped inside the apartment. Piper—magnificent in a short, clingy black halter dress and heels—reached for his hand. She tugged him closer, tangled her fingers in his hair, and kissed him sweetly.

Jaysus H.
—he nearly dumped the chocolate potato cake on the floor.

“Here. I’ll put this on the counter.” When Piper relieved him of the pretty, doily-lined cake plate, Mick suddenly appreciated Emily’s assistance in the kitchen. Cullen’s wife had been horrified to learn he planned to bake a cake for a girl and deliver it in a square metal pan.

“It’s so pretty!” Piper said, carrying it off to the kitchen. Mick licked his lips and stared at her mostly bare back, the dress scooped tight and low across her hips, her legs long and shapely. He began to salivate, and it had nothing to do with the savory aroma of a home-cooked meal.